Once a Wolf

"WEREWOLF, n.: A wolf that once, or is sometimes, a man. All werewolves are of evil disposition, having assumed a bestial form to gratify a bestial appetite, but some, transformed by sorcery, are as humane and is consistent with an acquired taste for human flesh."

--Ambrose Bierce

Chapter 6

It was late Friday night and Caden Rhys Phellan pined to sneak out and meet his best mates Tristan and Scott like he did every weekend since falling into the care of his Uncle Gabriel. The boys' meeting place and customary hang-out was the Pergola in Hampstead Heath. It was quiet, secluded and eerie: an ideal location for three adolescent boys of thirteen to smoke cigarettes and plot affliction.

Caden wasn't a bad boy. Not really. He just liked to pretend he was. A typical troublemaker, he was mischievous but not malicious, angst-ridden but not mean. He and his younger sister Caileigh were left in the care of Uncle Gabriel, a kind but hard-nosed reverend for St John's on nearby Church Row, after they were orphaned at the ages eight and ten months, respectively. The absence of his biological parents, everyone would concur, was the reason behind his unruly behaviour. The role of parental disciplinarian undertaken by Uncle Gabe was not the same thing.

As seen through Caden's eyes, Uncle Gabe was not a dreadfull person but merely misguided. Both a religious leader and what their wizard father termed a Muggle, Uncle Gabe believed magic was morally wicked, blaming it for the death of his cherished sister and was hell-bent to ban his magically inclined nephew and niece from their birthright. Caileigh was too young to understand this but Caden remembered very well what he truly was and forced to deny.

Hence, his rebellion. Old enough to be gratefull for the things Uncle Gabe supplied but young enough to be wayward, he was an archetypal teen wanting to do the opposite of what he was told...just because.

Caden fastened his most precious possession around his neck: a black thong with a silver-encased wolf fang hanging at its centre. The Phellan family hailled from Ireland, the Island of Wolves, where werewolves ran rampant. The necklace was given as a birthday gift the week before the ill-fated camping trip that proved so pivotal in his and Caileigh's lives. It was meant to be a keepsake of his Gaelic heritage and ended up being something of a much greater value.

Damned animals! thought Caden with a scowl.

It was a werewolf that robbed him of his parents and it was determined that Caden's wolf-fang talisman was the siblings' life-saving element that tragic night.

Caden raked his fingers through his long black hair, brushing it from his face. Posing in the full length mirror on the bedroom wall, he admired the way his bum looked in the tight jeans he managed to wiggle into. A thirteen-year-old with hormones conducive with erratic behaviours, his appearance was his most important asset. He struck another pose, flexing his wiry arms to expose hardened biceps before pulling on a T-shirt.

He looked smashing, he evaluated, slipping on his leather jacket. He knew he would freeze but at least he'd make an attractive corpse. He vaingloriously fussed with his hair and clothing a few seconds longer before abruptly stopping at the slap! of footsteps on the bare floor just outside his room.

Shit! Uncle Gabe! And Caden should've been in bed already asleep at such a late hour!

Complaining under his breath about the misfortune, the roguish boy forsakened his preening to rush to the unmade bed into the coolled blankets he burrowed beneath and feigned a sound repose, complete with a gentle snore. Caden didn't know whether or not he snored but he believed it a nice touch. He was such a good actor.

Crrrrreeeeeeakkkkkkk!

The door came ajar; Caden snuggled deeper into his duvet and goose feather pillow. Someone entered the room with a soft slap! of bare feet over the floor and Caden tensed, poised to hear Uncle Gabe mutter a belated good night during a routine check. Instead...

"Caden?"

The soft, tiny voice belonged to Caileigh rather than Uncle Gabe. Caden's eyes popped open to view his five-year-old sister standing beside the bed, peering down upon him with her large, blue dewy eyes. Her long golden hair fell over her shoulder and glistened like gossamer in the incoming moonlight. In the white gown she wore she resembled an angel.

"Caileigh?" the big brother addressed. "What's the matter?"

"I can't sleep," she informed. "I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"The monster in my closet. I heard it move."

Caden sighed with the put-upon frustration of an elder sibling. For this he mussed his hair?

"There's no monster in your closet, Caileigh."

"There is too! I can hear it!"

"It's just a mouse, go back to sleep."

"I can't, Caden, it will get me! Budge over! I want to sleep with you!"

"No! Go back to your own room! There is no monster!"

"But I'm scared!"

Considering that further protest would bring Uncle Gabe to the room, Caden huffed in exasperation.

"Fine!"

Not hiding his displeasure for her request, he raised the bedclothes and scooted over. With the utmost immediacy of a frightened child, Caileigh joined him.

"Hey!" she squealled in her little girl's voice. "You still have your clothes on! You were going out!"

"Shhh! You know I go out for a bit when you and Uncle Gabe sleep."

"You'll get hurt one night, Caden."

"I won't get hurt. I've gone out before and I'm fine."

"But..."

"Haven't been hurt yet. Not a scratch. And you can't tell Uncle Gabe."

"But..."

"I mean it, Caileigh. Swear on mum and dad's souls."

"But..."

"Swear it, Caileigh."

"Give me your afters for a month."

"A month?! A week."

"Two weeks."

"All right, then. Two weeks. But you can't tell."

"I swear."

"You swear what?"

"Not to tell."

"Not to tell what?"

"Not to tell Uncle Gabe that you go out when we sleep."

"Good girl, Caileigh. I love you."

"I love you, too." A pause, then: "Caden?"

"Yeah?"

"You won't go out tonight, will you? You'll stay with me?"

Caden exhaled his helplessness.

"Yeah, I'll stay with you."

"Thanks, Caden."

"You're welcome."

"What if the monster comes in here?"

"I told you, Cale--" He stopped short and sighed then used a different approach. "If the monster comes in here then I'll kill it."

"But what if it gets you first?"

"It won't. It can't."

"Why not?"

Caden rolled his eyes, stuck untill he remembered the wolf fang talisman around his neck. "Because of my necklace," he explained. "You know, the one that saved us from the werewolf that killed mum and dad."

"How can a necklace save you?" she asked sceptically.

"Because it's silver and werewolves are afraid of silver."

"Oh."

"Now stop asking questions and go to sleep."

"OK. Good night. I love you."

"Love you, too."

Caileigh nestled against her older brother and seemed to fall directly into dreamland.

"Is fheàrr teicheadh math na droch fhuireach," acquiesced the boy softly.

Caden relinquished his upset and followed into sleep, foilled for the night.

****

Lupin jolted from sleep in a violent shiver three hours later to the abrupt wail of police sirens. Evangeline's muffler hung loosely down one side of his neck, exposing the other side to the cold. Disoriented, he sat up and blinked sleep from his eyes, wondering where he was. Oh, yes. An alley somewhere in SoHo. Still mellowed and somewhat numbed by the opium, he knew he needed to at least get off the street and find a reasonable shelter where he could better keep warm. Squinting in the light of the lamp post, he noticed a small form on the ground staring at him. There was the sound of ruffled feathers and he recognised it as an owl.

It twittered a greeting to him and he reached out to untie the bit of parchment from around its leg. Immediately the bird pecked at his hand and he groaned, regretting that he still had nothing to offer Sirius' messenger. Feeling useless remorse, he waved the animal away with a swipe of his hand. In defiance, the owl flapped its wings as it backed off, still pecking at the offensive hand prior to taking flight in a fury of dust and feathers.

I don't want to deal with you now, Pads, Lupin thought as he tucked the parchment, tied with a black ribbon that the werewolf was curious as to how his friend managed to obtain, into his coat pocket for later.

Many years ago the young Sirius Black had been a soul mate of sorts to the shunned werewolf despite the tremendous disparity between them. Opposites magnetised them into an inseparable bond of loyal friendship. Black was similar to the little werewolf with his playfull nature but opposite in many more ways: he came from a prominent pureblood family while Lupin was from a modest lot even before his parents came into poverty. Black was a devil-may-care ruffian, outspoken and admired by all. Lupin was the quiet wallflower who was seldom noticed. Black was athletic and outgoing but Lupin was scrawny and withdrawn.

It was a drastic time back then, with so many of their friends fresh out of school and being picked off faster than flies in a cluster of Venus-flytraps. Everyone needed and sought affection wherever they could get it. Lupin, Black, James and Peter clung to each other with ferocity, escaping wartime tension with pranks.

But their love for each other was a fragile vase in the midst of a demolition: it held strong but always teetered on the edge of falling apart. War robbed them of everyone they loved and there seemed to be few if any future prospects. Black allowed him to move into the flat he acquired with the inheritance his Uncle Alphard gave him because the destitute werewolf was unable to pay rent for the crappy matchbox room he lived in. It was during this time when the two friends formed a bond both fiery and undefinable. Without doubt they would die for each other which was what made their mutual mistrust for each other tragic and what made their reunion so bittersweet.

Now in the face of a new war they found themselves trying to rekindle that affectionate need but too much damage had been done in their heartache. Time had torn a new rift between them that was nearly as bad as the initial suspicion and nothing they did seemed to repair the damage. He knew Sirius wanted to fix things as badly as he did but it just seemed impossible.

Carefully rising from the ground, he winced as his stiff joints cracked. He stretched to relieve the ache, secured the muffler better about his neck then reached down to claim his belongings. That was when his eyes fell upon, of all things, a Daily Prophet with blaring headlines:

DMRC TO REVIEW WEREWOLF RIGHTS:
Stricter Laws Proposed

He pondered on who the former owner of the discarded paper might have been. Perhaps another vagabond werewolf attempting to keep updated on his kind's future fate. Detesting that whoever it was carelessly tossed it on the Muggle streets rather than dispose of it in a responsible manner, he picked it up, folded it and stuck it inside the bag of second-hand clothing for later reading.

He then took a few stumbling steps reminiscent of a newborn fawn taking its first steps before he was able to correct his gait and walk normally. The first abandoned building he came across would be his sanctuary where he would properly warm himself. He still had his wand and was going to make use of his magic as soon as he was removed from sight.

It took him fifteen minutes to find an empty shop that, with a quiet "Alohomora!", he entered without incident. Gratefull for a surrounding structure to protect him from the elements, Lupin made himself at home in the last room at the back of the shop which he imagined to be an old storage area as it was cluttered with boxes filled with assorted books and supplies.

He rummaged through these boxes to gather an armfull of books which he piled on the floor. As much as he loathed doing it, he cast a quick "Indendio!" on the pile which erupted into flames. Warmth, glorious warmth! He sank to the floor, relishing in the enveloping heat, and remained that way for several moments, his mind free of thought.

Dizzy from hunger and throat parched to the point where he wondered if he would be able to speak, he ran his hand through his untidy hair in effort to make it somewhat presentable. After nervously scanning the room for others, he cast an Augamenti charm with his already hoarse voice then guzzled the fresh water that spouted from the tip of his wand, quenching his bothersome thirst. When he'd had enough, the spell ran out. Food was the next pressing need on his list.

The only thing he had was leftover penny chocolates in his coat pocket. In remembering them, he quickly took them out, unwrapped and ate them ravenously. Unabashedly, he hungrily licked the melted chocolate from the wrapper. Waste not, want not. But oh, what he wouldn't do for a bite of real food!

Finishing his childish meal, he wadded the wrappers into tiny balls and tossed them into the pile of ash and fire that had once been books. The old building was able to retain a surprising amount of cold. It would take forever for the room to heat sufficiently. Lupin detested the cold and never could seem to get warm enough. The weather had been unpredictable of late and he was tempted to pay Evangeline a visit for shelter, at least for a little while.

Right now his body ached and he wasn't certain if it was from the cold or opium withdrawal. Little tremors rippled through his body and his hands began to shake as if he a high much caffeine intake on an empty stomach. Little beads of sweat formed upon his brow, dampening his hairline. The pull in his veins signalled that he was soon due for another fix.

Then he remembered the copy of the Daily Prophet and considered reading what he knew would be a tendentious article. Did he honestly wish to put himself through such anguish tonight after making progress with finding shelter and making a fire? Perhaps it would be best to wait till morning so he could read it over breakfast. But he realised in disgruntlement that there would be no breakfast for him to eat.

Lighting the tip of his wand with a muttered "Lumos!" he opted to skim the article for it was unlikely he would ever be in the position to change any one's politics however directly it affected him. His eyes scanned each sentence, tidbits here and there sticking in his mind but it was all the same thing: Wedgewood and Umbridge postulating that werewolves were "egregious cankers of society" and must have a leash put around them to protect everyone. He groaned, tired of hearing the Ministry's endless stream of werewolf bashing and was about to add the paper to the makeshift book crematorium when a name caught his eye.

Evangeline Redgrave.

Evangeline Redgrave? His Evangeline Redgrave? Heart slamming into his ribcage, he read eagerly.

Right now the Ministry has a zero-sum relationship with werewolves, Evangeline was quoted as saying. We offer these people help by creating Werewolf Support Services and building safehavens to keep them off the streets. Then at the same time we take away the very benefits these services give. What I find ridiculous is safehavens are built to not merely provide shelter for werewolves but to segregate them from society because they are considered a potential danger. Too often safehavens are petitioned against and subject to protesters who pose more of a threat to the werewolves than the werewolves to do them. My safehavens have been the subject of illegal search and seizures by the Ministry as well as violence by groups of self-proclaimed vigilantes who do refuse to allow these zoomorphic people to lead a peacefull coexistence.

Give them hell, Evangeline! Lupin cheered proudly inside his head. He continued on:

My goal is to expose the hindrance our unforgiving society causes werewolves, the article continued to report Evangeline's words. They struggle to obtain jobs, jobs that are easily taken away from them by too many systematic loopholes. If they are lucky to secure employment they are paid such a low wage that they are barely able to buy food. The only fair employment opportunity they have is to find work among the Muggles. It's ridiculous. We can not allow this outrage to continue. Something must be done and I will do my best to speak on behalf of all werewolves everywhere.

Lupin had read enough. Refolding the Prophet in half, he placed it back with his other belongings and sighed deeply. So his Angel had been genuine in her cause. She was trying to help.

Poor Angel! he lamented. She was fighting a lost cause. He didn't belong in her world; he wasn't even welcome in it and that knowledge was what propelled him to take Snape's advice and leave London. He wasn't positive as to where he would go but he knew he needed to leave. He couldn't risk hurting this benevolent woman. It was obvious she was an advantage to other werewolves who were far more worthy of her assistance.

Deciding that he was harbouring far too much self-pity to his liking, Lupin curled up on the floor, his head propped up by the makeshift pillow that was his case and stared into the fire. Pleasant thoughts of his beautiful aficionado of the Bard ran through his head like a movie. They were Romeo and Juliet, he fantasised, trapped with a love in a disapproving world that served only to separate them. Rather than being nestled inside dirty clothing and a dusty coat before a crackling fire, he brought to life in his mind fresh linens and soft arms securing him to a warm body.

That was how he fell asleep.

***

A woman's scream startled him awake faster than the wails of police sirens from earlier. Heart in his tightened throat, he withdrew his wand faster than a gunslinger in the American Old West preparing for a shootout at high noon. He shook his shaggy, greying head to clear his thoughts and scrunched his eyes closed so he could press the sleep out of them. There were still dying embers in the burnt out fire, reduced to nothing much more than a smouldering pile of black ash beside him. As suspected, the room hadn't retained much of the heat and he shivered.

Whether or not he trembled because of temperature or due to the scream that awakened him he did not know. He listened intently for a second cry and heard nothing but a presiding stillness. He waited but still heard nothing more. Did he imagine it? Did a woman really scream? Tempted to check to make sure, he considered his own safety. If he walked out there and involved himself then he could get hurt. Yet if he didn't then someone else's life could be at stake.

It wouldn't be necessary for him to out-muscle or to outnumber because his wand would give him the advantage. He could Obliviate their minds to prevent them from remembering his magic if they were Muggles. But what about the risks of others catching him? What then?

But if he did not respond to this woman's need for help what would that say about his own integrity? Wouldn't that prove him to be a heartless monster and equally guilty of the crime at hand? He was no coward, but he realised his reaction time was impaired by the opium. The drug may have rendered him useless to lend any aid, magic or not.

He sighed, his body calming. It must've been a dream or an isolated incident because there was no second scream. If some poor woman was in distress then she should be screaming bloody murder still. Yes, that was it. A dream. His thoughts of Sirius before falling asleep influenced his dreams to reflect the residual agony he felt for being the hapless victim of Black's physical abuse. That incident would forever bother him.

Listening intently, he paused to hear another scream just to make sure, poised to spring into action should duty call again. There was nothing.

Does opium make you hear things? he wondered before allowing his body to slump back against the wall. He knew some Muggle drugs made the user hallucinate and opium did cause confusion in those who made use of it. That was it. Opium induced confusion. Nightmares caused by Sirius' domestic violence. The scroll he recently received. It all added up.

As he felt himself slipping back into a contented sleep, there was a second scream somewhat louder than before. This one brought him to his feet.

Someone was in danger! He had to do something!

Stumbling over the pyre of books before him, he nearly tripped as he raced from the room to get to the front of the shop. Although he could not see anything outside the window he knew the assault was taking place nearby. He rushed outside and looked around but still found nothing.

Which way should I go? he thought frantically.

The question was answered by a muffled scream and the sound of a struggle. He headed in that direction and found himself in the alley next to the shop from which he came. A hulking male figure had a woman pinned against the dirty wall but the angle did not look right. Then Lupin realised that the assailant was lifting her up above him with one hand around her throat, effectively strangling her as she kicked and thrashed about to obtain freedom. Without help there was no possible way she was going to get free.

Before acting hastily in drawing his wand, Lupin took for granted that both woman and her attacker were Muggles and opted for the non-magical approach.

"Release her!" he demanded, hoping his hoarse voice carried enough weight to present him as a feasible threat.

The man paid no mind but continued on with his task. Lupin's interference gave the woman new hope as she fought harder. The werewolf saw her arm strike out and claw her enemy's face. He drew his head back to miss her fingernails but Lupin saw a gold glint wound between her fingers as she pulled something off the man's neck.

Lupin sprang into action. A wolf he may have been but he had the heart of a lion. Not sure what he would be able to do, he tried to pull the man from her but could not find the leverage to manage it. The woman's face was purplish and turning blue but the man only squeezed her throat tighter. She was dying; he needed to do something and quick!

Grabbing the man's offending hand, he attempted to pry it from around her neck but his vise grip held stronger. Lupin felt inept and he was not a weakling. This man was terrifyingly powerfull. Giving up the effort to break the attacker's hold, he wedged himself between the woman and her offender, pushing back against the man's wrist.

"Let her go, damn you!" he hissed between clenched teeth.

He strained against the brute, daring to look him in the eye to show he meant business. As soon as his eyes fell on the face of the assailant, Lupin's heart stopped dead in his chest. He saw a face clad with a black leather Mardi Gras mask similar to the ones worn in a masquerade ball in the shape of a wolf's face staring back at him. What did this mean? Was this a crime being committed to somehow blame werewolves?

The thought angered Lupin, inspiring him to push harder. Either from being strangled unconscious or because she saw he was trying to help, the woman stopped her own efforts and hung in the false wolf's grasp like a limp rag doll. Lupin noticed that the man's throat and chest were scratched and bleeding from where the woman tried to defend herself. Her lifeless body motivated him further.

Lupin brought his foot up swiftly, kicking the man in the groin then up further to his chest, finally shoving him off them. As the woman crashed to the ground, so did her attacker in a proclamation of agony. He lay doubled over and holding himself, groaning piteously. Not wanting to wait for him to get back up to do worse damage, Lupin began to withdraw his wand.

From the distance the sound of an approaching group of people reached his ears, making him remove his hand from the inside of his coat and leaving the wand secured in place. The attacker, too, heard the advance coming their way and wobbled to his feet, half doubled over. He lurched out of the alley as fast as he could and out of sight.

It was only then that Lupin focused his attention on the victim of the scuffle, now lying unconscious behind him. Calling out to rouse her, he gently shook her but she remained unresponsive. Her chest was no longer rising and falling so he checked the pulse in her neck.

Nothing. And she was already growing cold and tinted blue from lack of body heat. She was dead.

New panic seized him. With the crowd of concerned citizens rushing towards the mouth of the alley he knew if he didn't leave he was sure to get blamed, especially if this woman was a witch and the crowd were of the Wizarding kind. He had no choice. He was not about to take the fall for the crime of another. Heart pounding in his own terror, he rose from the crouching position he was in and was about to retreat when something caught the corner of his eye.

Whatever the woman pulled from around the attacker's neck was still in her hand. Acting on instinctual reason, he stooped to retrieve it and without looking at it, placed it in his pocket.

The sounds of the crowd were getting closer. If he didn't leave at this very instant the mob would turn vigilante and exact their vengeance on him without listening to his side of the story. Instinct for self-preservation kicked in. Without further hesitation, he broke into a run for his life, away from the scene.

The first place he went was back inside the shop where he hurriedly gathered his possessions. Everything he owned in the world had been left there and he wasn't about to leave without it. His only current means of dignity and self-worth, he would die to retrieve them because they were his; precious and personal objects. Casting a quick miniaturisation charm to shrink what wasn't in his dilapidated case, he stuffed everything inside then tucked the case under his arm and ran.

The crowd was already at the alley directly behind him, crying murder, commanding him to stop when he appeared and shouting for the police. He tried to not look back so they wouldn't see his face but by force of habit he did when they shouted out to him. But they opted to see the damage done in the alley rather than risk chasing him. He knew with dread that there was not enough distance between him and them. His breathing, already laboured and raspy from opium abuse, came in fearfull gasps that made it feel as if his heart would explode.

Run faster! FASTER!! They will kill you if they catch you!

He chanced to look back again but nearly tripped before he could see anything so he continued straight ahead without that second glance back. His heart felt as if it was going to pound through his rib cage and his breathing was unbearable and impossible. He thought that he was going to either get lynched or collapse dead from a heart attack. Fear kept him running.

Minutes later when he knew he could run no further, he slowed down and saw that he was near Green Park. It would be a perfect place to while away time as he rested and thought of what he could do and where he could go. Taking a few moments to catch his breath, he glanced about him to check for anyone before proceeding into the oasis of tall trees and grassy meadows. Not trusting to be at the edge of the park, he walked in deep, veering off the trail and venturing into the darkness.

Finding a small thicket, he all but crumpled to the cold grass, his case beneath his head. Emotion overwhelmed him and he uncharacteristically wept softly for the first time in a very long time. Usually a collected man, seldom was his stoic façade breached by tears because he always needed to remain strong. Strong for his parents, strong for his friends, strong for Harry. But sometimes even the mightiest of warriors needed this small release and with everything weighing so heavily upon his shoulders he needed it now.

What am I going to do? he wondered. I can't stay here and risk being discovered! I refuse to be incriminated for something I tried to prevent!

For a moment his mind went blank, numbed by terror. That woman had a name, a family, people who cared about her. Now she was a faceless victim in an alley, her killer roaming free to commit another heinous crime on someone else. Thoughts of her began to supersede the fear. Composing himself, he remembered the shiny object he plucked from the dead woman's hand.

Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew the item and looked at it. It was an amulet of some sort, a gold chain with a gold pendant hanging from it. The thing made him remember his own adornment and he subconsciously pulled at the dog tags around his neck. This amulet was no pair of dog tags. It was an intriguing piece that he could not tear his eyes from: inscribed on the pendant was a full moon with a wolf's head pointed towards it, howling. The full moon was the first "O" in a word. Caramoor.

Caramoor? What the hell is that?

He turned the necklace over in his hand to see if there was an inscription on the back but found it plain. Smoothing his thumb over the wolf on the front, he thought of the possibilities. Would a Muggle wear something like this? He knew particular street Muggles used such jewelry to present status of power and wealth but would it have such a specific picture on it?

He questioned its significance and meaning. Why the word Caramoor? In his travels through the world, Muggle or Wizarding, he had never come across such a place. Nor had he ever heard of it in Muggle Studies. What sort of a place could it possibly be? Is it even a place? Perhaps it was fictitious. But again, he read Muggle and Wizard literature alike and had never known any Caramoor.

The woman had torn it from the neck of her attacker so it was his rather than hers. What could it mean to him? Was her attacker a real werewolf? He'd heard of the attack on Auror Ajax Hammerstein and knew that Hammerstein's death was the reason for the meeting to convene on Monday. Was the attack tonight related to the attack on Ajax Hammerstein? Could it be that the woman was a witch?

He knew he would need to find a way to get a morning edition of the Daily Prophet to find out. News would headline the front page if she was a witch. With the outbreak of arbitrary werewolf attacks it could very well break news in the Wizarding world even if the woman was a Muggle. The victims did not matter so long as a werewolf could be blamed.

And he was a werewolf caught running from the scene. There was going to be a problem. One didn't need to be a scholar to figure that much out.

He continued to toil with Snape's suggestion of leaving London and knew it was now imperative that he did. People would be looking for him, whichever world they would be from. Besides, his thinking that he would be called upon to perform some heroic feat was why he continued to remain in London. Now his life or at the very least his freedom was in jeopardy. What was left for him here? He imagined that now Remus John Lupin was as far from everyone's mind as retirement was to a child which bothered him immensely. If he needed them to bail him out of any trouble he could be in caused by this mêlée tonight they would not be able or willing to rush to his aid.

He shuddered in thought of what would be done to him if the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures deployed the Werewolf Capture Unit for secure of his arrest. They would kowtow to every demand made by Wedgewood and Umbridge without question, making him a doomed person. He was fully aware of the tortures werewolves suffered in the Werewolf Detainment Centre and it turned his stomach.

There were tales he was once told by a young werewolf he'd met while squatting on the outskirts of Edinburgh before Dumbledore located him for the DADA job at Hogwarts. The young woman, barely of age, was quite lovely had it not been for the disfigurements caused by torture with silver she sustained in the Detainment Centre. She told him that she was left bound for hours, cold and naked, then beaten mercilessly. They touched silver to her flesh, scorching her face and thighs then using it to maim her foot. He pitied this young woman and within the week they recognised their common problem and clung to each other. He promised to kiss her mutilated flesh better and he did. Without knowing so much as each other's names, they became lovers and lived in their building of squalor, abandoned by all but them.

He knew he needed to stop foolling himself so he could move forward with his life. He needed to leave London. Start someplace new where they did not know him. Get clean. Then maybe he would be of some real use. What good was a drug addicted has-been? There was definitely going to be an inflammatory backlash and he would be the easy target to pin the crime on.

He made the final decision. He would make his way out of London. Uncertain where he would go, he knew it had to be far away. There was a deep-seated septentrional pull to trek back to Scotland within him. Maybe it was because he knew Harry was there and he still wanted to be near the son of his dearest friends to keep a protective eye out. Maybe it was because he knew Sirius would be there too. The whole idea might've been an excuse to meet up with Sirius and make amends for the second time in four months. Would it be worth it? Would Scotland be far enough an escape? He didn't know but at least he could be near Harry.

Perhaps this was fate returning him to where he belonged. Perhaps he was wrong in leaving Scotland. He should've stayed with Sirius, to be man enough to deal with the cruelty he was served with. Together he and Sirius could've kept two pairs of fatherly eyes on him. Harry was worth the sacrifice of being abused by Black. Now certain that the morning edition of the Daily Prophet would accuse him unjustly, he, Remus John Lupin, was a wanted criminal just like Black. There was safety in numbers.

Yes, he would leave London but only to retreat from impending danger and reunite with his long lost tyrant of a friend Sirius Black. There in whatever corner of Scotland that Sirius was hidden in, they would be safer as a pair. Eager with revelation, he pulled from his inside coat pocket a scroll of parchment, a portable bottle of ink and a quill then set to work on his opus of apology.

Dearest Padfoot:

Please forgive me for my negligence in responding to your letters. I have recently run into trouble here in London and must flee the city. I will be returning to Scotland very shortly and will provide details upon my arrival. Please advise me of some place where you and I may convene to sort through our troubles. I will see you soon.

Love,
Moony

Since he did not have an owl on hand, he looked around to make sure that the tall grass of the thicket sheltered him from curious eyes then charmed the parchment to form a paper owl that flew off on its own to wherever Sirius Black was hiding.